


What Comes After

by CoffeeJack



Series: Promises Made After [2]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hospital, Light Angst, PEIP - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeJack/pseuds/CoffeeJack
Summary: But what comes after?





	1. Discomfort

**Author's Note:**

> We're back babeeyyyyy -- I tried to tag everything I could think of, but if you see something that's like,, "oh, they should tag that" t e l l m e p l e a s e
> 
> Ok so Hot Chocolate Boy's name is Oliver in this but when his actual name is revealed I'll come back through and edit it all.
> 
> Tumblr: mister-ingenue

But what comes after? After the schism? After the loss of a family, of a mother? After the addiction, the withdrawal, the illness? After the fallout, the desperation, the tragedy? After the internal cataclysm and external shattering of his mind?

An interrogation, apparently. He sat behind a cold, grey table while 4 PEIP officers, none of which were Colonel Schaffer, threw questions at him.

“Is there an organized nest? Where?”

“Mr. Matthews please sit still.”

“How did the Infected get off the island?”

“How many of them are there?”

“Mr. Matthews we need you to speak.”

“Is Hatchetfield uninhabitable?”

“Where is the Mothership?”

“What does she look like?”

“How did the Hive get onto the base?”

“Take a deep breath, Mr. Matthews.”

“What are the hive’s weaknesses?”

“How do they communicate?”

“Hidgens was able to give us useful information, and we need you to corroborate it.”

“Can the Hive heal itself? How?”

“Mr. Matthews, we know this is hard, but we need you to answer the-”

He was already gone, flying down hallways and through doors, blowing past guards and civilians working on the base.

Things were going very, very poorly. Not that they were going very well too begin with. 

This military base, in fucking Clivesdale of all places, had many hallways and many rooms, most of which were either workspaces or barrack type bedrooms, shared by whoever was assigned there.

He, however, shared a room with Hidgens. And Emma. And Melissa. And Oliver, who he had finally learned the name of. None of whom were technically assigned to the room, but no one was brave enough to tell them they couldn’t stay there.   
Most people didn’t trust either of them, as they were post-infected. This room was also the only barrack area with doors that locked from the outside. The locks hadn’t been used yet, but they were good to have, just in case. 

Attached to the room was also a bathroom they didn’t have to share, which came in especially handy in instances such as right now.

The good news was he made it to the bathroom. The bad news was the only thing he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and his vision blurred with tears.

He made it, luckily.

He collapsed, heaving, his fingers spasming against the toilet as he expelled everything from himself. Tears squeezed from his eyes as he choked. 

Eventually, when the puking stopped, he batted the handle and leaned heavily against the wall, stomach churning, wheezing. 

He scrubbed at his eyes, sleeves falling over his hands.

“Paul?” Hidgens, knocking softly at the unlocked door.

He made a soft sound in the back of this throat, his head against the wall.

He looked fucking pathetic, he was sure, curled against the wall in a goddamned bathroom.

Soft footsteps preceded soft hands on his back. 

“I know.”

Hidgens, turtleneck long gone, replaced by the black version of the same PEIP issued hoodie as the white one Paul had on, crouched next to him, gently pulled him into his chest, his hands, strong from years of playing the piano, settled on his lower back and the back of his neck, grounding him. 

“Do you want me to get someone? I could find Emma if you want?”

He shook his head. He didn’t need more people seeing him like this. Even if she did come, he couldn’t talk, even if he wanted to. No, he’d stick with Hidgens thank you.

Hidgens, who knew this shit from a biological and a personal standpoint, who could talk him straight out of panic, who had been cleared 3 days before him, who was getting better. Hidgens, who he trusted with this.

His stomach twisted, and he lurched, falling from Hidgens’ embrace to retch again. 

More tears. He couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt. His back hurt. Hidgens pressed something cool and damp to his neck, murmuring. “I think you have a fever.”

When the puking finally subsided, Paul forced his eyes open. Mistake.

He shoved himself back, back into Hidgens, a panicked sound escaping him as he retreated. 

Hidgens, leaning over him, flushing the blue tinted vomit. “I know. It takes a while to...expell all of it. If I get a papercut, my blood sometimes comes out more blue than red.”

Paul remembered. He had been there for that papercut, he had watched the blood beed blue on his skin. They both spiraled, inconsolable for the rest of the day. Paul had only let Emma, Melissa, and Oliver near him, so afraid the Hive was there to take him back, that they already had Hidgens.

Emma thought he was getting better. He had been cleared, bleeding red blood, almost a week ago. She thought he was making progress, his symptoms lessening. That he could do something as easy as fucking talking to other people. That he didn’t get dizzy and sick when too many people spoke to him at once. That he could handle people touching his shoulders and his chest and his face. That he could handle being alone in the dark. That he didn’t spiral when he heard the radio on 2 rooms over. That he was doing better. 

Nope.

Hidgens, the godsend, gently pressed the washcloth to his neck, hands shaking.

Paul’s breath rattled in his throat. His head hurt.

Paul tapped the back of Hidgens’ hand in thanks as he took the washcloth to wipe the sweat and vomit off his face.

Hidgens, as familiar with his triggers as Paul was with his, carefully avoided touching Paul’s shoulders as he drew him back into a hug.

Paul dropped the washcloth, scrubbing his eyes again, avoiding looking at the blue tint lingering on his hands and white sleeves.

He pulled away slightly, unzipping the now blue stained hoodie, shrugging it off and casting it to the side.

“We’re going to get through this, Paul. I promise.”

He nodded. 

He avoided touching Hidgens’ stomach when he leaned back in, curling his arms to his chest, letting himself be comforted by someone who went through the same thing.


	2. Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night belongs not to us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite things about writing this is teasing what's happening to Remmy- who has to wait until I post the story to everyone ;)
> 
> I WILL let them be happy eventually... I Promise.
> 
> tumglr: mister-ingenue

He was in the dark. 

Deep, unnatural dark.

Some might even call it…

A void.

The Void.

no.

It wasn’t the Void. It couldn’t be.

No.

He had escaped…

Hadn’t he?

He was sure.

NO.

He had escaped.

He was free.

Right?

His hands shook, and his heart stuttered in his chest as he slowly turned, taking in the absolute nothing-

Almost.

The almost nothing.

There was someone else here.

He wasn’t alone in his head, in this space.

And that was usually worse than being alone.

He drifted closer to the other, familiar figure.

The figure did not turn. Did not notice his approach.

Paul, breath caught in his throat and hands shaking, forced himself to murmur. “Hello?”

Hidgens whirled and shrieked, lunging at him.

He, of course, screamed as well, arms flying up in front of himself, thumping hard against Hidgens’ chest.

Then something joined them.

Another scream. 

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another still.

These were much, much louder.

These were thousands of voices, all at once, all screaming.

All of them, right behind Hidgens.

He turned to it, slowly, hands still locked around Paul’s biceps.

It was Her.

She was there, in this dark space.

The Mothership was here.

She was smiling.

She was warm.

She was the Mothership.

She was the Mother.

She was Her. 

The two sucked in a breath as one, and when Hidgens turned his head back, away from her, to face Paul, he saw blue tears pouring down his face, and could feel a cold wetness staining his face.

“No...”

Paul whispered. Hidgens whispered. They whispered, in unison and in terror.

She drifted closer, smiling softly. 

She placed her hand on Hidgens’ arm. Just above the elbow, where Stu had gripped just before his infection. 

He whimpered and when the Mothership said his name, said “hello, Henry,” he screamed, and Paul did too and together as one they thrashed their ways back into the real world, out of the dream they had been trapped in.

Paul sucked in a breath, despite and panicked as he bolted upright.

He could see Hidgens in the dark across from him, half his face illuminated from the small nightlight both he and Paul had next to their beds, for moments like these. 

He could see his face, eyes wide, back stiff, sheets grasped in a death grip, nose bleeding a shade much, much too dark to be red.

“Paul?”

Emma, crouched next to his bed.

“Hidgens? Paul?”

Melissa, on her feet, bat in hand.

“Guys?” 

Oliver, sitting up in bed, squinting in the dark, his glasses on the table to his left.

A soft wheeze escaped him. The one that told the others that words would not form. Not now.

Not after…

Not after Her.

Hidgens reached up and swiped at the blood, smearing it across his face and his hands. Then he stood and staggered into the bathroom to vomit more blue blood.

His head fell into his hands and sobs hitched trough him. 

The soft ‘plink’ of Melissa’s bat being set gently back in its spot next to her bed was the indication that he was in no danger. 

He was safe.

He saw Her.

So did Hidgens.

She was there, in the dark.

How?

They weren’t connected, and their Voids had been torn apart when She cast them out.

They still bleed blue sometimes, and this wasn’t the only time they had woken up screaming. 

The first time it had happened, the base had gone into lockdown for 2 hours while they tried to soothe the two.

This was the first time they had seen Her since…

Since then.

They had a suspicion, what with the blue blood and perfect pitch they had discovered recently, that they were still semi-connected to the Hive. 

To each other, specifically.

It was just dreams at this point, but dreams sometimes show memories.

Paul had seen Hidgens’ friends coming back to him. The subsequent infection. 

Hidgens’ had seen Paul’s first conversation with Emma, what had happened with Mr. Davidson. They did not see Paul’s infection. They did not need to. 

Hidgens was there when it happened.

When the meteor was destroyed, the spores it had thrown into the air died. 

So did the ones in Paul.

When the grenade had gone off, they had covered him with their own, their infected forms protecting him.

And for a moment more he was human, the spores inside him dead and gone as the Starlight Theater crumbled around them, beams and posters for Mama Mia shredding to pieces and sent tumbling down the walls as the structure was blown to pieces. 

Then…

Then after came. And with after came the hands, pushing Paul to the ground, holding him there. Bill, Ted, Nora, Davidson, the Greenpeace girl. 

Hidgens.

They leaned over him and smiled.

Then Hidgens…

Then Hidgens...

He...

Then he was happy. 

He wasn’t happy anymore.

Emma touched his hand. The rested her hand on the back of his head and pulled her to him, sitting on the bed next to him.

Two pairs of soft footsteps passed the bed as Melissa and Oliver went to talk to Hidgens, both of them whispering as they passed.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. I promise.”

He forced his breaths to slow, to stop stumbling in and out and making his chest and his head ache.

He was safe now.

Logically, he knew this. He knew he was safe, that She was gone, that he was the only one in his head more often than not.

But still… 

It didn’t feel like a memory.

It also didn't feel like a dream.

Too real.

Too…

He drew back from Emma and grabbed the sleeve of his t-shirt. He drew it up to his shoulder and stared at the red and purple bruise Hidgens had inflicted moments before.

“Holy shit! When did you even get this?” Emma stared up at him in worry and shock.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t quite sure he could explain without being able to talk.

“Well, you definitely didn’t go to bed with it. Paul, this is a handprint. I had the same one when…” she shook her head, “this is Hidgens’ handprint.”

He nodded. She was brilliant.

She brushed her fingers over the sensitive skin, then carefully tugged the sleeve back down.

Melissa and Oliver slipped from the bathroom, Hidgens pale between them. 

They, the 3 of them, joined Paul and Emma on his bed.

They settled together, and that was where they stayed for the rest of the night, as they had done the last time this had happened, and the time before that. And the time before that. 

They were safe. Emma promised. 

They were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remmy keeps getting mad at me bc I won't let them be happy yet ;)


	3. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't their fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)  
> At this point, I'm striving to possess the chaotic energy Brian David Gilbert, Jeff Blim and Griffin McElroy have.
> 
> tumgLr: mister-ingenue

They were found in the morning, curled up in a pile on Paul’s bed.

“Hey, guys?”

Paul’s head snapped up from where it rested, curled into Emma’s neck.

Remus, one of Colonel Schaffer’s guards, who was one of the 5 working at Beanie’s so long ago, stood at the foot of the bed.

“Y’all need to get up. Now.”

“Situation room? Schaffer there already?” Melissa, already on her feet.

“She had me come get you guys.”

“We’ll be there in a minute.”

They dragged themselves out of bed, into clothes, and down the hall to the “situation room,” all of them overtired and undercaffeinated.

They entered the room to find Colonel Schaffer, 3 other high-ranking PEIP officers, and Remus inside.

“We found a nest.” Schaffer did not mince words.

“You fucking what?” In some cases, neither did Melissa.

“There’s a nest. We found it. We have reason to believe there are survivors.”

“What fucking reason? They infect whoever they get their bitchy blue hands on.”

“The reasons are nothing you need to know or be concerned about. What you should be concerned about is the fact we are sending some of you back into Hatchetfield to act as a guide to our operatives.”

“Fuck no.”

“You don’t have a choice. All of you are native to Hatchetfield, and thus, know it best.”

“Who exactly of us? The old guy, this child, her with her trauma, him, with more trauma, or me, who sure as shit won’t go back there?” 

“You actually, yes. And him.” She gestured at Paul. “He knows both Hatchetfield and the Hive.” 

Oh.

He didn’t want to go back there.

They were there.

She was there.

“This will not only be a mission to rescue the survivors, but also to subdue and capture as many infected as possible. Our operatives will be keeping the kill counts to an absolute minimum in this scenario.”

“Fuck you, Schaffer.” Melissa stormed from the room. Oliver, pulling Hidgens along, stalked out after her, letting the door slam behind them.

“I’m going with them.”

“Ms. Perkins, your leg is not field ready. So no, you will not be going.” Shaffer looked at Paul, and with a determined set to her chin, she spoke, “Mr. Matthews, we leave in 4 hours. Get Melissa on board and prepared. Do your duty to your country son.” And with that, she stalked out of the room, the generals trailing her like puppies. 

Remus leaned down to Emma as he left, “I’m also assigned to this mission. I’ll keep him safe. I promise.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Emma whirled, already talking. “You’re not going.”

“I have to. There are survivors, Emma.”

“Paul you can’t-”

“Emma. I have to.”

“You don’t. There’s Colorado. We could go, right now.”

“Emma-”

“I’m serious Paul, we could be done with this.”

“Emma I’m going. I have to try.”

She pulled him into a hug.

“If you get infected again I am going to lose my shit.”

“That’s fair.”

They left the room, hands clasped tightly, and went to find Melissa.

They found her curled under the staircase, Oliver pressed to her side in the cramped space, white knuckles gripping the softball bat, and Hidgens leaning against the wall the staircase was connected to.

“Melissa-”

“I’m not going back.”

“The survivors, Melissa.”

“I know. They don’t need me- they don’t need us to go. This is a suicide mission, Paul.”

“Only if we do it wrong.”

“Shit.” She mumbled, pressing impossibly closer to Oliver.

She signed and emerged from under the stairs, lifting her eyes to Paul’s.

“Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

And so, 4 hours later, they loaded onto a boat - not a helicopter, Paul couldn’t handle helicopters- and set off for Hatchetfield.

When they landed, they were ok.

When they shoved the boat back out, away from the shore, they were ok.

When they set off into the city, they were ok.

When they blew away blue covered monsters, they were ok.

When they approached the nest, they were ok. 

When Melissa saw the nest, the bombed-out husk of their old building, the CCRP Technical logo faded and falling from the sign above the door, she tightened her grip on her bat and flipped the safety off on her gun.

Paul, already shaking under the tactical gear piled on him, stumbled on the shattered concrete. 

Then he heard it. 

They all did.

The singing.

The mourning song.

Paul could feel it in his jaw.

He wanted to join.

It hurt.

Remus, the mission leader, waved them forward, into the mouth of the beast.

They stalked forward, swapping bullets for tranquilizers. Melissa did not.

The lobby, dark and softly humming from the singing around the city, was empty.

Until it wasn’t.

Someone staggered down the hallway, singing the mourning song softly as they shuffled along.

“We missed you, Paul. We were hoping you’d return to us.” Bill hummed, grinning as he stepped into the lobby.

3 darts hit him in the chest, and he dropped, unmoving, chest rising and falling slowly as the PEIP operatives restrained him, heaving him onto the shoulders of one of the larger agents, who Paul didn’t catch the name of. 

“One.”

Paul was having trouble breathing.

They continued up the stairs, blue streaking the walls. 

Then, at the top of 6, they saw Mr. Davidson, beaming. “Have you found what you want Paul?” He purred down at them.

Melissa pulled the trigger and blew his fucking brains out.

“Two.” She snarled, lowering the gun.

“Melissa, this is a limited casualties-”

“I don’t care. Davidson was either going to get shot, or I would beat him into the fucking dirt with this bat.”

“Yeah, ok. Don’t tell Schaffer.”

And so they continued, slipping through the 6th-floor door and into a destroyed office space. 

They kept moving, stepping softly over and around shattered desks and broken picture frames of various families.

Then, Remus motioned to lower the guns. 

“Trust me,” he hissed. 

The guns lowered.

“Hello?” Remus called. “I’m Officer Remus with PEIP; we work for the government. We’re here to get you out, off the island.”

A soft sound, a shifting was heard to the group’s left. Everyone tensed, guns lowered, but ready.

A head popped up from behind an overturned desk. Hands came up next. 

“Don’t shoot! We’re human!” This harsh, raspy whisper, belonged to a teenager, no older than 16. 

A second person stood up next to the first, hands raised. She, about the same age, but much smaller, glanced up at him, then back to the group.

“I’m Danny- this is Dia.”

Remus nodded, waving them forward. 

“Come on- helicopter will be on the roof in a few minutes. Let’s go.”

“Helicopter?”

“I know - we didn’t tell you because we knew you’d be more resistant to the mission this way. But it is the only way. Yell at Schaffer when we get back.”

Were the walls closing in, or was that just Paul?

“Paul! You came back to us! Hello Melissa.” Ted stood behind the group, arms outstretched. “We-”

“Fire.” 

4 darts caught Ted, and he went down, hard. 

“Three.”

Another PEIP soldier picked him up, hefting his scrawny, bloody body over his shoulder, and then shuffled back to the stairs, resuming their hike upwards. 

Paul was grabbed from behind, thrown back into the wall, head rattling in his too large helmet. 

Then the helmet was torn away, tossed down the stairs they had just climbed.

Sam pressed his shoulders back into the wall behind him. 

Paul could see Melissa, face much, much too pale, on the third stair up, the other PEIP soldiers higher up, guns leveled at Sam.

His eyes locked with Sam’s, blue and metallic, the blood vessels webbing through the scleras fat and dark and oozing slightly.

He did not see when Melissa took her bat from its place across her back.

Sam smiled, teeth stained blue, as one hand pressed hard against Paul’s chest, the other lighting up, a sick blue shine. 

His head cracked when Melissa hit him with the bat.

His neck popped when he collided with the floor.

Paul slid to the floor, head in hands, trying to breathe.

“Four.”

“Fuck Sam.” He forced through clenched teeth. His nails dug into his hands as he pushed himself back to his feet.

“Fuck blue lives.”

“Sam?” Came from the stairwell below them, and then Charlotte rounded the corner. Remus swung down, to their level, firing down the stars at her. She sank to the ground, eyes wide and horrified on Sam, who she had lost, again, the mourning song on her lips like a kiss.

“Five.” Someone mumbled.

She was scooped up, and they proceeded, round and round, flight after flight, until they finally reached the roof, just in time for the helicopter to touch down.

They piled the limp infected in, made sure they were restrained, then began to climb in themselves.

The hum of the propeller made Paul’s heart throb horribly, and the soft mourning song that could be heard over the droning whirr did not help either.

Then, gravel crunched behind him, and the song got louder by twofold.

He turned, slowly. Alice and Deb stood on the rooftop behind him, hands clasped.

“Alice…” he murmured. “I am so, so sorry Alice.”

When she smiled, the blue covering her mouth cracked and split, more blood gushing from the dry flesh.

They took a staggering step forward, belting the harmonies in their sorrow. Melissa stepped up next to Paul and fired 2 shots, catching each girl in the throat with a tranquilizer. “Six and seven.”

When they went down, their hands stayed clasped. 

When they were loaded onto the helicopter, their hands stayed clasped. 

When the helicopter took off, their hands stayed clasped.

Paul dug his nails into his seatbelt straps, eyes focused on the back of the pilot’s heads as he tried to both breathe, and keep his stomach down.

Melissa sat beside him, bat between her knees and gun in her lap, right side pressed to Paul’s left, eyes fixed on the unconscious infected.

Paul wheezed his way through the flight, not wanting to be awake for the trip but not able to sleep. If he slept this close to the nest, She would come. She would find him. She would take him, again.

He wanted to cry when the finally landed on the base's roof in Clivesdale.

He staggered from the helicopter, face pale, straight into Emma’s arms.

Melissa did the same, collapsing into Oliver.

“How many?” Emma murmured into his ear as she watched the infected being loaded and restrained on gurneys.

“Seven.”

“Who?”

“Bill, Ted, Charlotte, Alice, and Deb. Sam and Davidson got shot. And the 2 survivors, Danny and Dia.”

She nodded, eyes not leaving the helicopter. “And you?”

Ha made a soft, noncommittal sound in his throat.

“I know. My leg hurts even seeing it but, you both made it. That’s all that matters.”

“Mr. Matthews. Excellent work. You as well Ms. Melissa. Your country thanks you for your service.”

“Go to hell Schaffer.” Melissa’s voice was muffled from its place, buried against Oliver, but the crust of blue blood coating her bat made her statement just a bit sharper.

Schaffer nodded, turning on her heel and stalking away, clicking her fingers at Remus, who scampered after her.

“Fucker.” Hidgens said under his breath, resting his hand on Melissa’s back. 

Emma, still watching the infected being wheeled inside the base. 

“They’ll be ok. They’ll be fucked up after, but they’ll make it. You both did.”

“I hope so.” Hidgens inclined his head toward the building, and the pairs separated, still gripping their partner's hand, shuffled into the building.

They passed under wary eyes, both post-infected and a blue covered bat drawing stares, both inconspicuous and extremely conspicuous. 

They shucked their heavy, dark mission gear, Melissa scrubbing her bat with a rag and relinquishing her gun.

Paul and Melissa were cleared by medical staff - preventing the quarantine that would have inevitably followed should a trace of blue been found.

They were called into Schaffer’s office for a debrief, where rules were set for them regarding the newly brought in infected.

They weren’t permitted to see the infected, not this early.

When they did visit, they were not to touch, talk to, or interact with the infected in any way. 

No one, specifically Paul or Hidgens, was allowed in the room alone with them.

Armed guards were posted at the door at all times. 

After 45 grueling minutes of rule explanation, they were free to go.

They were not told the state of the infected.

They were not told anything about Danny and Dia.

They were told simply to leave and to abide by the rules.

So they did.

For a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CoffeeJack says fuck Davidson lives
> 
> Smoke club = Danny and Dia
> 
> you're either I N the s m o k e c l u b or you're O U T


	4. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, it seems to be the 11th hour, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch *dabs and hits that w h i p*
> 
> Ok so if you read I Promise, you know what the 4th chapter brings,,,, ;)
> 
> tungler: mister-ingenue (I made moodboards for all the characters and cosplayed paul if y'all are interested)

Paul was not going to throw up again. 

He wasn’t.

He was going to push down the nausea, put his stomach back into its place. He was fine.

He was trying to be.

Schaffer still hadn’t specified when they’d be able to see the Danny, Dia, and the infected.

He could feel them sometimes.

Not like how he could feel Hidgens; he couldn’t see memories or dreams, but he could feel their pain and hear the music and humming in their skulls.

He could feel them now. 

5 hearts, 5 minds. 5, but 1.

Hidgens, pale and shaking next to him on the bathroom floor, did throw up. He could feel them too. 

“Guys?” Oliver opened the door and poked his head in. “Schaffer said we can go see them now.”

Hidgens moaned and pushed himself off the wall, staggering to his feet.

Oliver led them to the quarantine area, finding Emma and Melissa on the way. The guards parting and unlocking the door.

Danny and Dia had pushed their beds together, IV poles and heart monitors shoved away.

The siblings eyed the group suspiciously as they entered, undoubtedly noting the pallor of Hidgens’ face and Paul’s stumbling steps.

“Are you guys… ok?” Oliver said, stepping carefully closer.

“Oliver, right? I think we had English together.” Danny’s voice was still hoarse and raspy, too long spent in silence, hiding from the hive.

“Y-yeah. I sat in front of you, I’m pretty sure.”

Dia spoke for the first time, her voice soft and high. “Is Deb ok?”

Everything dropped out from under them.

The base’s lights cut, red emergency strips lighting up on the ceiling as the loudspeaker overhead roared to life, announcing the infected at the entrance of the base. The siren screamed.

So did Paul. He clasped his hands over his ears and sank to the ground, shaking violently.

Hidgens did not scream. He did not sink down.

Paul reached up and grasped Hidgens’ hand, pulling himself up, head throbbing.

In the red dark, Hidgens’ hand tightened around Paul’s, and he turned and stalked from the room, pulling Paul along, level, even steps easily outpacing Emma.

She chased after them, grasping at Hidgens’ other hand and arm.

His walking did not slow, did not stop.

They reached the hospital zone.

Emma stopped in her tracks, trying desperately to get him to do the same.

Hidgens turned his head to peer back at her, and Paul watched blood, thick and cold and blue, pulse and spill from his ears.

He smiled, teeth and lips tinted blue.

Pounding feet echoed down the hallway, rushing toward them. 

Hidgens head snapped toward the noise, the smile turning into a snarl as he cast Emma aside and dragged Paul into the room in front of them, tossing Paul to the floor and locking the door behind him, Emma slamming and screaming against the metal.

Paul scampered backward on his hands, pushing himself back between 2 hospital beds.

Hidgens. Turning to face Paul and smiling softly, stalked toward him, then leaned over the bed to Paul’s left and ripped the tape off of Ted’s mouth.

He disconnected the IV, undoing the restraints around him.

He leaned over the bed to Paul’s left and repeated the process with Charlotte.

He walked down the row, freeing their infected friends one by one.

A note, just one, then another, and another, and another spilled from their lips as they stood weakly, pushing themselves off the beds and blinking away the blue tears blurring their vision.

Paul whimpered and pressed closer to the wall.

He could hear shouting outside, pounding and banging against it.

As they sang on, they grew stronger, rising from their beds and grasping at Paul.

He screamed, flailing and kicking and sobbing as they dragged him to his feet.

Their hands were everywhere.

GET OFF

His shoulders.

GET OFF

His chest.

His face.

GET OFF

Then they spoke, voices, all 6, forming a disgusting choir, harmonizing.

“She misses you, Paul.”

He thrashed in their hands, their grip bruising.

GET OFF

He sobbed, chest constricting as his legs gave out.

GET OFF

They let him sink and collide with the ground. 

Ted grasped a fistful of hair and jerked his head back.

Bill and Charlotte held his shoulders down, nails digging into his flesh through the thin material of the white jacket.

GETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFF

Alice, Deb, and Hidgens stood in front of him, peering down at him.

Hidgens knelt and grasped his chin, the blue dripping down his chin, coating his throat in the brackish fluid.

Then the door exploded.

Remus, Melissa, and Emma stormed the room, firing shots and sending Deb and Alice careening to the ground. Ted snarled, lunging at Melissa, blue coated teeth bared.

She cracked him across the face with her bat, sending him skittering to the right.

Charlotte and Bill stood, voices rising into a high, piercing vibrato as they stepped to defend Hidgens.

Paul grasped at his wrists, trying to get his hands off his face, to get him to stop touching Paul’s face.

GET OFF

His hands only gripped tighter, framing his face, blue oil gushing from his hands.

GET OFF

“Please… don’t…”

His head tilted.

“We are family Paul. A Family does not break apart.”

He pressed his mouth to Paul’s, giving him the gift that had been sleeping inside him, reawakening Paul, saving him.

Hidgens fell away from him, a syringe sticking out of his neck, Emma wide-eyed and hardly breathing above him. 

Paul, his mouth smeared blue, rose to his feet.

He was happy now.

He was happy again.

He wanted Emma.

He wanted Melissa and Oliver, Danny and Dia.

He wanted.

He did not want.

The Hive wanted.

She wanted.

She, who he worships with each new appendage of her will. Her, who he worships with every note that spills from his lips.

He reached out, taking Emma, shell shocked, beautiful Emma, cupping her face and tilting her up to him.

Then he was hit.

Hard.

A mass, tall and wiry, slammed him, knocking him back into the wall.

He cried out, Oliver’s knee digging into his chest when he slid down to the floor.

Oliver, glasses gone, weight settled on the center of his chest, slammed his fist into his face, blue spurting from his nose.

He hissed through bloody teeth up at him, clawing against the knee keeping him from doing what he must.

He fought.

She knows, he fought.

Oliver hit him again.

GET OFF

And again.

GET OFF

And again.

GET OFF

Then he sank.

And as he sank, the space around him grew darker and darker, until it was nothing but a void.

And then the singing began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... so sorry


	5. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the days passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall i went ans saw Shazam half way through writing this and i saw a FUCKING ARTEMIS FOWL POSTER!!! LIKE BIIIIIIITCH THAT IS M Y S H I T

The tape was back. The restraints were back. The IV drip in his hand was back. The heartbeats, 7, pounded in his skull.

He could feel them curled on the base of his skull like snakes.

He shifted his arms and legs, the restraints cinched, the tape over his mouth secure.

He lifted his head, peering around him through blurry, unfocused eyes.

He saw the row of beds, his brothers and sisters on either side of him, and-

And then the door opened.

Emma entered, disposable coffee cup and coffee stirrer in hand.

She dragged the chair next to the door to the side of his bed, sitting, careful not to spill her drink.

She stirred it, scrutinizing it as she always does, making sure there was no blue “shit” in it.

She glanced around her, verifying the restraints of the infected around her.

Then she peered down at him.

“So here’s what’s going to happen. It’s day 3 of you all like this. I’m going to sit here every day making sure no one gets out. I’m gonna talk about everything, and you're going to listen. Melissa and Oliver will come in if they want to, but I’m going to be here 100% of the time. Got it?”

Her name was muffled by the tape.

“Great,” she said, nodding. She leaned back in her chair and took a careful sip of her coffee. And then she started talking.

She talked about everything, as she promised. She described her life before and after Jane. 

“It’s weird being jealous of a little sister. Especially when your parents had such high expectations for you, and you couldn't quite reach them. But she could.”

She spoke about what the nurses had said, how the purging of the infection would take 11 days as it had before. How they’d all be under close watch. 

“Everyone post-infection gets an escort, and nobody’s allowed off base, ever.”

How Melissa and Oliver were doing.

“Melissa is pretty shaken - she carries her bat everywhere - and Oliver’s the same - but he got a new dosage for his T injections, so he’s been feeling kinda sick lately.”

How Danny and Dia were doing.

“They’re out of quarantine, doing well, all things considered. I’m pretty sure Oliver is head over heels for Danny. Dia keeps asking about Deb and Alice, which might also be something, but we'll see.”

What had happened to the infected at the gate.

“It was the History teacher at Hatchetfield High, that one mailman who kept dog treats in his van, and the guy who ran the shitty ferry everyone was scared of. They… didn’t make it.”

She bounced from topic to topic for days on end, her voice growing rough as he began to feel the effect of the disconnect, again.

His family lying around him gave off pained moans, doctors and nurses occasionally entering and administering more drugs to keep them calm, sated, complacent.

Unlike last time, they were not foolish enough to release any of them, not even risking loosening restraints.

On day 6, when they thrashed and screamed around her, him screaming with them, Emma kept talking. 

Emma stayed.

Melissa and Dia came day 8, eyes steely and shiny with unshed tears.

They stayed.

Oliver and Danny came day 9, fingers intertwined, clutching desperately.

They stayed.

He was happy.

He wanted them. 

He wanted them to be part of this, part of his family. Part of the song.

When Emma’s voice shattered and failed, words no longer emerging, tears spilling down her face in her silence, Melissa began.

She spoke of sports and stars and stories.

She talked about the last company softball game they had, how Charlotte hit the ball, and it hit Ted, how Mr. Davidson had sat in the bleachers the entire time with his wife, Carol, how Alice and Deb came and supported both Bill and Paul, how Sam didn’t show up and people called 911 to ask him to show up.

She spoke of the stars, she talked about each one, each constellation, about what the sun was made of and how it would explode.

She told stories and recited poetry, voice never faltering, one hand on Emma's, the other never leaving the bat set between her knees.

When his family began to slip into the void around him, 1 by 1, heartbeats going silent as they disconnected and seized doctors and nurses flooding the room in a panic, he was the last to fall.

An agonized sound escaped him as he called out to Emma as he sank. She reached out and took his hand, shifting to sit on the bed next to him. She pressed a kiss to his forehead as he slipped into the dark.

She was not in his mind.

She was not there.

He floated in cold darkness, turning slowly, searching.

He saw his family.

They were there with him, in this horrible black space.

They did not sing, they did not feel each other's pounding heart in their heads.

They, the 7 of them, were truly alone together. 

The Mothership had taken them back, but had not welcomed them in.

They were not connected to the larger Hive.

They had been isolated.

They had been abandoned.

Alice turned to look up at him. She smiled exhaustedly, and her voice echoed in the silent space. 

“We’re going to be ok, I think.” She took Deb’s hand, eyes bright.

“Young lady, I think you might be right.” Hidgens’ voice conveyed power and brilliance, rather than the weakness and fear it had previously.

Ted took Charlotte's hands, whispering apologies to her.

Bill looked at his daughter and his best friend, and when his hand settled on Paul’s shoulder, there was no fear, no panic. “We’re going to be ok.”

When the void around them failed, it was not torn apart, not destroyed. 

It instead faded into white, like the sun rising.

And with the light came the warmth, like dawn, like love, like hope.

The song was finished, but the story was not.

And soon enough, all will be well. I promise you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> Ok, so I have a rule with what I write: They Make It.  
> No matter what they go through, no matter what I put them through, they make it. Always. No exceptions. I'm writing the 3rd book, and that one will be happier - I promise.
> 
> (also I might combine the 3 into one story under I Promise?? Just have it be 15 chapters instead of 3 sets of 5)
> 
> THEY ARE NOT DEAD, OLIVER


End file.
